TAKING THE COUNT
least seventy-five per cent the best of the bargain, and tenacious enough to hold out until he got it. Mike simply did what the other fellows would have done if they had been given the opportunity, and every one knows what an unprincipled course that is to pursue. One fight promoter, hoping to secure certain concessions and smarting under Mike's steady refusal to recede from the original proposition, burst out thus:
"Ain't you got any sportsmanship in you at all?"
"Not a stitch," answered Mike. "Sportsmanship and business are two different things. I'm a business man, and you know my terms. I've got something to sell — buy it or let it slide."
In the "good old days," which some of the scarred bare-knuckle veterans still mourn with sorrowful pride, a fighter needed no business manager for the excellent reason that fighting was not then a business. It was a habit. With the era of large purses and profitable theatrical engagements came the shrewd business man, and Mike Badger was the shrewdest of them all. He could smell a five-dollar note farther than a bird dog can smell a glue factory.
A champion is the greatest asset a wise manager can have — and vice versa. The very word, "champion," is a valuable trade-mark. It means easy money, free advertising, and, last and most important, the right to dictate terms. Every ambitious fighter dreams of winning a
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